


Blood and Wings

by Techpriestess



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Pre-Heresy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Techpriestess/pseuds/Techpriestess
Summary: Set in an alternate universe where "Everything's Alright!" and the Heresy never happens, Lotara Sarrin, Flag-Captain of the World Eaters Legion, has a family secret that will draw the attention of her crew and of Sanguinius, who struggles with secrets of his own. He is welcomed aboard the Conqueror to help her, but the truth is he needs her far more than she needs him.





	1. The Family Curse

Aboard the Conqueror, heavy footsteps rang down the halls of the command bridge. Officers jumped out of the Astartes’ way, disinclined to be trampled by the Eighth Captain’s focused stride.

Kharn had received summons by the Command Bridge, but it bore the name of another man, not the name he had come to expect. It was protocol for Lotara Sarrin to hand off command when it was time for her to go off duty, but it was unusual for any officer to summon an Astartes, even the Primarch’s Equerry, outside of an emergency situation. Most officers preferred to leave non-pressing matters to their captain- her talent for talking in a way the World Eaters could understand had drastically improved the life expectancy of every member of the command crew. Kharn knew it and, with the ship still many weeks at warp to go, the summons left him unsettled.

The Chief Officer met him before he reached the door leading to the Bridge.

“Captain.” Wrinkles and salt pepper hair were at odds with his crisp white uniform. He frowned, brows furrowed, and gestured for the Space Marine before him to follow into an adjoining room normally reserved for planning their campaigns.

“Chief Officer August…” Kharn acknowledged him, his voice a warning of his short patience.

“Please.” Kharn followed him, staring expectantly.

Once the door hissed shut, and August took a deep breath. “I am not sure how to ask this, but directly. Is Captain Sarrin pregnant?”

Kharn stared at him, slack jawed. A moment passed before he recovered himself enough to reply. “How would I know? Why?” He demanded.

The fear of the World Eater’s ire ran down August’s spine. “You are closest- she has been not herself lately, and we wondered if it was a development in your relationship-” The stare Kharn gave him paused the Chief officer’s thoughts. “I mean no offense, Lord-!”

“What has she been doing?”

August looked sheepish. “She’s been wearing a larger size uniform, eating almost unceasingly… She’s been terribly distracted, restless. And 3 days ago after leaving her post she put in for sick leave, but has yet to visit the medicae. No one has seen her since.”

Kharn ran a hand over his mouth, considering the thought. He hadn’t considered the possibility of their coupling resulting in progeny. It wasn’t exactly a topic they covered in Neophyte training. He hadn’t seen her since their last tryst several months ago; their latest campaign had kept him busy. But they’d been at warp for more than a week. Surely she would have come to him by now if this was the case. “… Why are you telling this?”

“I had hoped you would know more, and if not, that you would go check on her. She has not replied to any of my unofficial contacts, and I hate to go through official channels, lest it potentially lead to tarnishing her otherwise impeccable record.”

“Ah.”

 “Please, Lord Kharn. I am worried.” 

 “Yes, Chief Officer.”

* * *

His thoughts whirled with the possbilities. His gut clenched in a way that not even the bloodiest confrontations concerned him. A child. He was a warrior, a beast bred for war, not a nurse maid. It made the Nails trill.

It was a rare occasion for him to make the journey to her quarters. Their little rendezvous seemed to coincide with the end of campaigns, this last conclusion notwithstanding. She had been distracted with ship repairs this time, or so he had thought. Now that assumption seemed ignorant on his part.

He didn’t bother knocking; she had given him her entry key long ago. The door hissed open, silence and darkness greeting him. He stepped in, his eyes adjusting to the dim lights.

“Lotara?” She was not the nearest person normally; a side effect of spending neigh all of her time on the Throne was a lack of organization once she left her official duties. But what he saw of this space was a catastrophe- books and files were strewn on the floor. Empty trays from the mess were piled on and around her desk. Drawers were open and in some cases pulled out. Her closet was open, but all her uniforms were heaped on the floor. Her bedding was piled in the middle of her bed. In the middle of the pile on the bed was her. 

“Get out.” She growled. 

“No.” He approached the foot of her bed. 

“Get. Out.” Lotara hissed, recoiling. A blanket still remained draped over her shoulders, but he caught a glimpse of bare skin underneath. 

“No.” He sat down on the edge and reached for her. She was already bunched up against her headboard, so he set his hand on her foot. “I think I know what’s going on.”

Her eyes narrowed; “Do you now?”

“I talked to the Chief Officer. I didn’t think it was possible, but… We can handle a baby.”

She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape and brows furrowed.

“Plenty of crew have children as I understand, and-”

“I’m not pregnant, you oaf.”

“Oh.” He stopped, eyes widening. “You’re not…” His heart sank.

“No.”

“Then…” He looked around the room again, then back at her. “What the fek, Lotara?”

She studied his face for a moment. “… You won’t understand.”

“Tell me.”

Lotara waited for a moment, before letting her comforter drop from around her shoulders. 

Kharn’s gaze crawled over her milky flesh. Nothing seemed out of order, maybe a little skinnier since he had last seen her so bare, until a pair of additional appendages flexed from behind her. Dark feathers covered each one. He stared, slack jawed once again. Tal had manifested wings from time to time, but that was a side effect of warp trickery. This did not make the Nails dig deeper. “… I guess I can’t take you on your back anymore.”

She scoffed, a tentative smile blooming on her face, and smacked his hand. “You  _dog._ ”

“How did this happen?”

The smile faded again. “… It’s a family curse.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know anything about Warp-”

“It’s not the Warp.” She cut him off with a sigh. “It is a malady among my people in the Upper Spires. It consumed my brother. I- Since he got sick, I shouldn’t have gotten it too- it’s too rare-”

“They’re going to kill you?” Kharn’s grip on her foot tightened a fraction.

“… I don’t know. It’s… not always fatal.”

“You need to see the medicae.”

She pulled her foot from his grasp. “No.”

“Lotara…”

“What can they do? What will it matter?!” Her fear was palpable. “I will be branded a mutant and killed. I die either way.”

“I won’t let them.”

She laughed. “Do you really think Angron would allow an abhuman captain the Conqueror?”

He moved closer to touch her face. “It’s still you. He doesn’t care what you are, so long as you’re capable of the job.”

She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, leaning into his hand. “… You had better be right. I don’t want you splattered all over my ship’s walls.”


	2. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angron is informed of his Captain's condition, and Lotara learns to deal.

His growl echoed through the Primarch’s private chambers.

“What do you mean, ‘ _she’s sick_ ’?”

Kharn didn’t flinch; any weakness only upset his Sire more. “You should go see her.”

He grunted, sucking in the saliva threatening to roll down his chin. “Will she recover or won’t she?”

“The medicae says she will survive, but she will not be the same physically.”

“Then what is the problem?” He moved right up close to his Equerry, the unspoken threat coming with his fidgeting hands.

“… She just doesn’t want you to be surprised or upset.”

Angron laughed, the guttural bark sending his saliva flying. “She has some nerve. Let’s see her then. See why you insist on being so cryptic about my favorite captain.”

* * *

How medical bay tile floors were always bone jarringly cold, she never knew. It was just another of many reasons she loathed the med bay, along with the sterile white walls and the incessant clicking from the Medicae’s mechadendrites. Lotara set her bare feet to the floors anyway and pulled herself from the gurney. 

The doors burst open, the Primarch and his Equerry striding in. “LOTARA.” He called, his head sweeping about in search of the captain. Lotara slipped, taking a tray holding the medicae’s tools down with her. The noise called the Primarch like a hound on the scent of prey. “Lotara?” The curtain that divided her from the rest of the bay was swept to one side. “What is-?” He stopped dead in his tracks when he laid eyes on the little captain on the floor. The medical gown hung open across her back, the dark copper feathers in stark contrast to her pale skin. She stared up at him, wide eyed.

Kharn was the first to speak. “Captain, are you alright?”

His voice broke her from her reverie. “Y-yes, my apologies. I am not used to walking with them out.” Her wings folded tight against her back as she pulled herself to her feet, her gaze on her hands. “Sire, I did not think I would see you here.”

Angron moved in close, his hands gentle as they brushed over her shoulders and down to her elbows. “Are you alright?”

She looked up at him; of the reactions she had anticipated, this was not the one she would have believed. Lotara let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Yes, Sire.”

He sniffed at her, turning the little captain carefully around to get a better view of her. “You smell like my brother.” He chuckled, running a finger over her feathers. She shivered, the contact unexpected and not unpleasant. “Do they hurt?”

“Just growing pains, Sire.” Lotara breathed, leaning against the hand that still had her by the elbow.

“Good.” Angron chuckled again, watching her flex her wings and find her balance.

“Sire.” Kharn called their attention to the medicae waiting on them.

“+Sire. Captains. I have lab results.+”

Lotara took a deep breath. Angron took a step back and looked to the new comer. “What have you found, Baltez?” Lotara asked, putting her weight against the gurney and facing the medicae.

“+Other than a low iron count, you appear perfectly healthy. Enzymes indicate continued significant growth with the new limbs. I suspect they will continue for some time.+”

She grimaced. “Great. What of the hunger?”

Angron glanced at her, an eyebrow raised. The medicae shrugged. “+There doesn’t seem to be a medical reason for it, beyond the nutrients necessary for growth. None of the medical texts elaborate further.+”

Lotara ran a hand over her face, dry mouthed. “… I see.”

“+I would like to see you back here once every three days, but otherwise I will clear you to return to active duty.+” Baltez looked up at the Primarch, “+Provided you still approve of her position as Captain, Sire.+”

Lotara breathed in, looking to Angron as well.

The Primarch scoffed. “I would have no one else Captain my ship.” He looked back down at the little woman beside him with a sniff. “Even if she smells like Sanguinius.”

Lotara put a hand over her mouth and looked away, her cheeks flushing. The Medicae nodded, looking down at his dataslate. “+Yes, yes. Speaking of Lord Sanguinius, I would like to contact his fleet and exchange data. He might have additional insight on her condition and care.+”

His expression twitched at the mention of his brother, but whether it was the Nails or his own opinion of the universally loved Primarch was anyone’s guess. “Do what you must for her.” He grunted and looked toward the door. His thoughts were muddling with Nails. “But she stays aboard the Conqueror. Sanguinius cannot have her.”

“+Of course, Sire.+”

* * *

In the weeks of warp travel, Lotara made every effort to remain out of the public eye, but word travelled fast of the strange appendages that weighed her down. Scuttlebutt reported the fantastic stories that came to explain their appearance- that a failure in a Gellar field had exposed her to the swirling energies; that it was actually an experiment gone wrong by the Archmagos; that she had had them all along, but she had meticulously plucked the offending feathers to hide her condition until she had risen so far through the ranks that she could not be simply discarded. The reality had travelled through, though with its less fantastic qualities, it did not make for as favorable bar-room banter. 

She hated how it impeded her ability to travel the ship. One altercation left her concussed and missing handfuls of feathers. The situation was mild thanks to the intercession of Esca, who claimed he had been just wandering the halls. Lotara knew better- Kharn had been keeping close tabs on her- but she was grateful none the less. After that she only went from her quarters to the bridge or the med bay with an escort, at the command of Angron. It chafed to think she could not travel her own ship safely.

What she had dreaded most though, was the hunger. There seemed to be no quenching it, no relieving the ache in her belly or the dull burn in her shoulderblades. It made her irritable, even more aggressive. It was also something the World Eaters could relate to. Kharn had started dragging her to the sparring cages in her off-time, coaxing her to release her aggression and work out the muscles that were struggling to keep up with the off-setting limbs.

He worked hard to be gentle with her, parrying and deflecting with as little effort as he could will, despite the string of slurs and cussing that tumbled from her throat every time he put her to the sand. But the effort was worth it, seeing her red faced, breathless and chest heaving beneath him.

It was a good view, he mused. The question of children floated in his mind from time to time; their initial encounter on this whirlwind of events having planted a seed that did not seem to go away. Throne, he wanted her. It stirred him in a primal level that the Nails could not.

Lotara stared up at him from her back once again, her practice sword some ways from her hand. She glared for a moment, then pulled herself to her feet again. Her wings beat in the effort, kicking up sand. Kharn simply watched, idle, as if he were not at all involved in her struggle. “Again?”

The question always came when she found her feet again. The ritual between them had continued unabated since he started dragging her here. She would invariably lose the bout, and he would ask. And she would always engage him. He always made the decision when they were done. Like those afflicted with the Nails, she didn’t seem willing to acknowledge when her body was at its breaking point.

She pulled her weapon from the sand, considered the nicked blade and scuffed pommel, then launched herself at him again. He deflected the blow, almost bored. A flap of her wings helped her shift directions- a skill she yet to quite master- and she brought her weapon to bear again. Kharn batted it away as if it were a child’s toy, open handed. It scraped him, taking with it skin. It wasn’t the first time he’d spilled his own blood in thoughtless action. But it was the first time with her. He expected her to try and make his moment of surprise her advantage.

What he hadn’t expected was for her to bite him.


	3. Feeding the Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanguinius appears, looking for answers.

It had been more than 100 years since he had set foot aboard the Conqueror. She had been called by a different name then- she was the Adamant Resolve, the proud flagship of the War Hounds. How things had changed since then. She looked nothing like those early, innocent days now. He had not approved of Angron’s methods, though he could not argue with its totality, and their differences had made it easy to let time and trouble carry them apart. His Sons dominated his attention, for he loved them like none else.

But this was too rare an opportunity for him to not come and see for himself. The report that came to him made his heart skip a beat for a moment.

‘ _We have what appears to be a natural occurrence of a human with avian wings_.’

The Legion markers upon the report baffled him; Angron was not known for his restraint, and if they found a planet of people like him, he did not believe for a moment that they would be spared. It made so much more sense when he read the name on the medical report- if his intelligence was to be trusted, he loved that woman above any other mortal- but it raised so many more questions.

Now he was just foot steps away from answers. Their escort led them through the bare halls to the Medical bay. Sanquinius noted they had bypassed the mortal bay entirely, and were headed to where Astartes were treated, assuming that the ship’s floor plan had not changed. He was not wrong.

Through monstrous double doors awaited Angron and Kharn, the small gathering of medicae and an apothecary, and beyond them, was her. Sanguinius’ attention was locked on the amniotic tank that normally held severely wounded Astartes. She hung suspended in the fluid, her wrists manacled to the floor. A rebreather was strapped to her face, bubbles occasionally obscuring her sleeping face. Her long dark hair was a cloud around her, tumbling down her shoulders and back. Her limbs looked oddly thin for Naval personnel- she had to have been in here for weeks. A dozen IVs and wires ran from her body. The wings though, were what held him transfixed. They shifted periodically, twitching with the dreams that held her mind. One was bound and bandaged.

“Brother.” Angron grunted his greeting as he watched the golden Primarch carefully.

“Brother…” Sanguinius breathed, taking one more longing look before turning his attention to Angron. “It is good to see you once again.”

Angron sniffed. The muscles over one eye twitched with the hum of the Nails. “Can you help her?”

“I will try.” He put a hand on his shoulder for a moment. Then he approached the glass. “What happened?”

“She nearly killed a Medicae. It is difficult to contain her without hurting her when she is… manic.” Kharn answered, his gaze also locked on the woman contained in the tank.

“Manic?”

“She describes it as when ‘the hunger’ reaches its height. She… craves blood.” His forearm ached. The scrape had healed quickly, but the memory plagued him. The wild look in her eyes, the expression too similar to those lost to the Nails. The one thing he never wanted her to know.

Sanguinius’ expression darkened. “Does it stop?”

“After she is sated, yes. Mortal blood is less effective than Astartes blood.”

The second fact called his attention to the Astartes. He was wide-eyed. “You’re sure?”

Kharn rubbed his arm unconsciously. “Yes.”

“Then why did she attack the Medicae?”

“She woke up while they were setting the broken bones in her wing. It appears injury makes her hunger.”

“+The difference in her physiology makes medicating her difficult.+” One of the Medicae finally spoke up, the vox installed in his throat giving a faint undercurrent of static. “+We do not want to give her too much, but too little is… problematic. She has been slow to heal since interring her.+”

Sanguinius looked back to Lotara. “She is likely hungry. Wake her.”

The Medicae looked to Angron. He grunted, gesturing toward tank. “Do it.”

They scattered to the various panels that kept Lotara within. Minutes passed as the drugs cleared. Her eyes fluttered and she began to shift and pull on her bindings. The more clarity came, the more aggitated she was. Warnings flashed across the displays of several Medicae, each chirping cogitator part of the discordant noise.

“Lotara. Lotara. We’ll let you out, you just need to calm down.” Sanguinius pressed his hands to the glass. Lotara’s gaze was locked on him, but she did not stop yanking against her bindings. Several tubes and wires pulled free, blood following in their wake. The rebreather pulled free but she didn’t seem to care that she was beginning to drown.

“She won’t listen.” Angron grimaced as he took a position beside his brother. “She has the same look my Sons do when they are Lost.”

The fluid slowly drained and Lotara slowly crumpled on the tank floor. She pulled herself against the glass, baring her teeth at the pair of Primarchs between retching coughs. Her good wing thumped against the glass.

“How much blood does she need to calm down?” Sanguinius’ own wings twitched.

“+A few pints, though with how long it’s been she may want more.+” The Medicae who spoke before answered.

The glass of the tank started sliding down. Lotara pulled tight on her bindings, her wings expanding as far as they could go until the glass was clear. Angron crouched down to her level. She snapped at him as he reached for her. He didn’t flinch when she bit him, nor when she broke skin. She remained anchored to the edge of his palm while he smoothed her hair. Her fingers curled around his, child-like in comparison to the Primarch.

“You seem unbothered, brother.” Angron growled. “This something you have seen before?”

Sanguinius’ jaw tightened. “You know not what you speak of.”

Angron chuckled and sucked in the saliva pooling in his mouth. “You are just like father, thinking I am too broken a dog to see anything.”

Sanguinius’ reply died on his tongue when Lotara stopped sucking on Angron’s palm, her senses finally coming back to her. She looked up at him, dawning realization on her face. She let go of his hand and looked between the towering Primarchs with wide eyes. “M’Lord… Sire… You… I…?” Lotara pulled on her restraints, just realizing her own state. “Why…?”

Angron clicked his tongue, continuing to smooth her hair. “Lotara. Welcome back. Are you alright?”

She pursed her lips, her eyes wide. “Y-yes, M’L… Sire.”

He grunted, leaning in close. “Still hungry?”

Lotara closed her eyes and bit her lip. “No.”

“Good.” He looked up from her to his brother. “Don’t lie about what you know, Sanguinius. She may have answers you seek.” Angron pulled himself upright and looked to the nearest Apothecary. “Get her cleaned up.”

Kargos unfolded his arms and set to work loosing her from her bindings and wipe away the blood and fluid.

Sanguinius crouched down with him to help with her wings. “Perhaps I can help you with a bath, Lady Sarrin.”

She tried to sit up straight and maintain some air of dignity, despite her periodic sniffles. “I… would appreciate the help.” 

Kargos gave her a dry medical gown to cover up and both men helped her to her feet. She struggled to keep upright on her own, and after a couple of slow, painful steps, Kharn approached her. “Let me.” Before any of them could object, he scooped her up. She looped her arms around his neck, yelping in surprise.

Sanguinius stared at him, his wings twitching. Angron just snorted with a shake of his head. Kharn eyed the winged Primach, unwilling to be cowed by the natural auras of reverence Primarchs seemed to exude. Sanguinius sighed. “I am here to  _help,_  Captain. I will send for some of my personal washing ointments; feathers require a particular care.”

“It’s okay Kharn, I promise.” Lotara breathed, curling tighter into his chest.

He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to her breathe, then nodded to the Primarch. “The baths are this way.”


	4. Let Her Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanguinius seeks answers; Angron takes care of Lotara.

Kharn kicked off his boots and settled with her in the tub, pants and all. She sighed, her grip on him tightening as her feathers hit the water.

Kargos went to work on the wounded wing, rinsing the feathers and pulling the saturated bandages. The wound was knitting well and feathers were growing back where they had been broken or removed. He kept the limb from flexing in his mechanical limbs despite her apparent desire to stretch. “Easy, Captain. It’s not fully healed yet.” Lotara grumbled but otherwise didn’t fight him as he manipulated her wing.

Sanguinius watched him, tight-lipped until he felt the Apothecary was doing something wrong. “Gentler. Let the feathers fall as they naturally do.” He echoed what he wanted Kargos to do on Lotara’s good wing. Meticulous grooming rinsed the amniotic fluid from her wings and hair. Suds took the worst of the grime and gunk away. She let Kharn peel the gown and undergarments from her and run his fingers through her dark hair.

“How have you been taking care of them?” Sanguinius finally pointed a question to the Flag-Captain.

“Just a rinse when I have the time to let them air dry.” She shivered as he smoothed the feathers closest to her spine, coming just short of the pooling burn scar at the small of her back. Kharn eyed the Primarch while the buzz of the Nails began to hum.

“That’s good, but you do want to use soap when dealing with something so... oily.” He ignored the Eighth Captain. “Mild is best. I prefer something with low acidity. Ships are always so arid and cold, so you want to avoid anything that will dry you out. Since you’re so small and a woman, you’ll likely have a hard time staying warm in draftier places.”

Lotara pursed her lips. “I don’t have any problems staying warm.”

Sanguinius glanced at Kharn, a little smirk pulling the edge of his lips. “Of course not. Just take care. Now... Tell me about the hunger.”

She stiffened then. “What do you know about that?”

“I know it’s not just hunger. It’s also bubbling rage.” He withdrew from her a little, his wings stretching out to overshadow the trio. “Tell me what you know of this.”

The two Astartes shifted, the instinctive desire to obey quickening their heartbeats a fraction. Lotara was not as swayed by the Primarch’s display, though her wings ruffled. “It is a long standing disease among my people. It has been that way since the beginning.” She twisted in Kharn’s arms to look at Sanguinius. “I crave blood. It buzzes in the back of my mind, until I can’t hear anything else. Growth spurts make it worse, injuries make it worse. Animal blood is like drinking water when you need food. Human works, Astartes is better, Primarch...” She paused, disgusted with herself. “... Is like no other treatment. The anger... I don’t know. The times I have succumbed to it I don’t remember anything about it.”

“How did you break your wing?”

“It was an accident.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She grimaced, but it was Kharn who answered him. “She fell from a catwalk. I caught her, but it crumpled in my hand.”

“What happened after that?”

“I blacked out.” Lotara’s wings twitched with the memory; the crunch was still fresh in her mind.

“After we got her back on the catwalk, she was Lost.” Kharn was quiet, his attention focused on her. 

“We corralled her until a medicae could bring us a tranquilizer.” Kargos added, his gaze bouncing between his captain and the Primarch beside them.

“What do you remember?” Sanguinius’s attention was focused on her.

“I woke up in the medical bay before they set the bones. The hunger was roaring in my ears, but they didn’t want me to eat until after they put it back together.”

“And then you attacked the medicae.” Sanguinius finished. His wings relaxed, floating down like a snowy cloak. “You recover surprisingly well for a mortal.”

“Thank you, M’Lord.”

He stroked her wing with the back of his knuckles. “How long have they been growing?”

“7, maybe 8 months.” She was quiet under his touch, resisting the shiver that came.

“Have you molted yet?”

Her brows furrowed, “Molt?”

“Shed. You start losing feathers as new ones grow in. It happens over the course of a few weeks.”

Lotara shook her head. “No. Nothing like that.”

His eyes stayed on her wings. “In good time.”

* * *

 

The Primarch remained aloof and uninvolved with Sanguinius’ poking and prodding of his Flag-Captain, only appearing when curiosity happened to strike him. He spent his time in his private sanctuary or reviewing the plans of their next compliance. Combat would be a welcome change to the stagnancy that seemed to pervade with the arrival of Sanguinius and his cohort.

Hyrdaulics hissed and he entered the stateroom that led to his sleeping quarters. It remained largely unused- he did not care to entertain anyone, much less choose to sit and talk. The lights were low, and everything remained as he had left it. Lounging couches, mostly whole, were in a loose circle around a chipped tables. One of them bore a heap of red feathers and dark hair.

He wandered over to her, surprisingly quiet for a man so large, and couched down beside her. Gentle fingers brushed over her spine. “Lotara.”

She mumbled and stirred. “Angron...”

“I did not think you would actually use my room access.”

“Tired of tests.” She hid back under a wing. “No one bothers you.”

A smirk cracked over his lipless mouth. “Yes. They know better.”

“I’ll go.”

He stroked her back again. “Do what you want.”

Lotara shivered, then shook her head. “I’d rather stay.”

Angron lifted the wing she hid under with a finger. “Come on then.” The little captain pulled herself upright, and the Primarch scooped her up. She found something to hold onto as he took her back to his bedroom.

It had been a lush place once, dark wood and crimson drapery blending with the mosaics across the walls. Now, broken lumen strips cast odd shadows and pieces of shattered furniture suggested he had banned servants from the space. He deposited her on the bed. The dark comforter was stained darker in places where he had bled on them.

She settled into her usual place as he relieved himself of his armor. An automated system pulled at seals and clasps. Lotara watched with heavy lidded eyes; familiar scars told stories of campaigns long before her time, of the brutal life he led on Nuceria. It grieved her.

No words were spoken when he climbed into bed and she cuddled up close. Lotara fell asleep quickly. Angron came as close to dozing as the archeotech in his skull allowed. He was aware of her quiet breaths, and every little twitch and shift.

He heard the knock at his door, the slide of his door opening, and the even footsteps of his brother. He carefully pushed her off his arm and got out of bed to meet him. Lotara mumbled and grumbled but did not wake.

Sanguinius opened his bedroom door, Angron already there to push him back into the stateroom. He caught an eye full of the sleeping captain before focusing on his partially dressed brother.

The door hissed shut behind them. “What do you want?” Angron growled.

Sanguinius looked him up and down and set his hands on his hips. “I’m impressed, brother. I did not think you would ever be intimate with anyone, much less a mortal.”

Angron just gave him a deadpan stare.

Sanguinius sighed. “We have more tests. I need her help.”

“No.” Angron turned back to his room.

“Angron, wait. We’re making progress; this just takes time.” He insisted, his wings fluttering out.

The door slid open. “You will wait.”

“Angron-” The door shut, the locking mechanism clattering into place.


End file.
